But fuck do I want to.
But words dissolve when his fingers curl tighter in my hair, the slight pressure sending electricity down my spine. His mouth grazes the pulse point at my neck, warm breath raisinggoosebumps across my skin. He traces a path with his lips to the shell of my ear, and the room shrinks to just that point of contact.
“How quiet can you be, baby?“ The words vibrate against my skin, low and rough.
My skin prickles into tiny peaks, a wave starting at my neck and cascading down to my ankles before my mind fully registers what he's asking. I can only manage a jerky nod, my throat too dry for words.
His lips curve against that tender spot behind my ear, vibrating slightly with a low sound that's more felt than heard. “Let's find out,” he whispers, each syllable a warm puff against my skin.
His fingers loosen their grip in my hair, trailing electricity as they trace my jawline, my collarbone, the curve where my breast begins. The mattress shifts beneath me as he guides me onto my back, his palm skimming over the thin cotton of my tank, down across my stomach, until his hand hovers—a furnace of heat—just above the waistband of my shorts.
A sound escapes me when his palm finally settles against the cotton between my legs—not quite a gasp, something more primal—but his mouth captures it, lips sealing over mine. Heat radiates through the thin fabric, his hand so still it almost burns. My hips rise without permission, seeking more pressure, more friction. His fingers find the edge of my shorts against my inner thigh, hesitating for just a heartbeat before slipping beneath.
When he discovers nothing but bare skin, his chest expands against mine in a sudden, sharp inhale. I can't help the smile that forms against his mouth, my tongue darting out to trace the corner of his lips where they've parted in surprise.
His touch drifts lower, tracing the same whisper-soft path across places that make my breath stutter. I catch his lower lip between my teeth, not thinking, just feeling. The soundthat escapes him vibrates against my mouth as his body shifts, pressing closer. One finger slips inside where I'm already slick and waiting, then another joins it, stretching and filling.
His thumb just barely brushes my clit. The almost-contact is more maddening than any direct touch could be.
My breath hitches, catches, breaks into fragments against his mouth. My hips rise to meet his hand of their own accord, seeking more pressure where he barely gives it. His lips curve upward against my neck, eyes gleaming in the darkness as he watches me chase what he deliberately withholds.
Two can play. I slide my palm down the taut plane of his stomach, feeling the muscles contract beneath my touch. When my fingers find him through the thin fabric of his shorts, his exhale turns sharp, a hiss between clenched teeth that vibrates against my collarbone. The sound travels straight through me. I slip beneath the elastic waistband, past nothing but skin, until my fingers close around his cock.
“Jesus Christ.” It slips out like a whispered curse.
He fills my hand completely—impossibly thick and hard, yet silken against my palm. My fingers close around him, and a flutter of nervous anticipation curls low in my belly. When I tighten my grip experimentally, he pulses against my touch, a full-body shudder traveling through him that ends with a sound caught halfway between pleasure and surrender. I capture it with my mouth, stealing the vibration of his need directly from his lips.
A creak startles me into awareness. A reminder that we're not alone in this room. For one suspended heartbeat, I almost care. Then his fingers curl inside me, and rational thought dissolves like sugar in hot water.
When I start stroking him, he makes a sound I've never heard before—something primal that vibrates against my throat.
My body moves on pure instinct. I roll onto my side, throwing my leg over his hip in a silent invitation. The new angle changes everything. My leg hooks him closer, locking the heat of him against me, and his hand moves in rhythm with the slow, rolling grind of my hips. He chases the movement like a riptide, the two of us caught in a loop of silent, desperate give and take.
A dull thud from across the room cuts through my haze. I freeze, heart pounding, and angle my head just enough to glimpse Bishop’s silhouette slouched in the recliner, face shadowed and unmoving. He doesn’t stir, but his breathing has changed.
“Come back to me.” Rafe presses the pad of his thumb against my clit in slow, deliberate circles.
The sudden pressure sends electricity arcing through my limbs, dragging my focus back to him with a gasp caught behind my teeth.
“I’m right here.” My fingers drift lower, tracing the delicate skin behind his balls before cupping the weight of them in my palm.
“Mm.” His whole body tenses, a tremor running through his thighs as I stroke upward with a twist of my wrist while my fingertips dance over that sensitive spot.
“Baby,fuck,” he groans into my mouth. His breath stutters against my neck.
I catch his bottom lip between my teeth, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. My wrist flicks faster, twisting on each upstroke. “I want to feel you come.”
Rafe's eyes are ink in the dimness, locked on mine, daring me to keep going. His body is all taut lines and heat, the kind of restraint that only makes me want to push further. Every slick, slow pull of my hand over his cock draws another sound from him—sometimes a strangled gasp, sometimes a curse, always quiet, always forme. Under the thin sheet, the muscles in hisstomach tense and relax, his hips barely rocking in time with my strokes. He keeps his hand between my legs, fingers spreading me open, mapping every gasping reaction as I move against him.
“Not before you.”
44
BELLAMY
Rafe grindsthe heel of his hand into my clit, applying a pressure that makes my eyes roll back in my head. The room is a tangle of heat and breath and the promise of being caught. I chase the friction with a grind of my hips, and when he plunges his fingers deep again, hitting that perfect spot, everything in me seizes up like a wire pulled too tight. I want to cry out, to tell him not to stop, to beg for more, but the best I can do is bite down on his shoulder, muffling the sob that tears through me as I come—hard, sharp, with a violence that leaves my ears ringing.
His fingers slow inside me, but don't withdraw—just gentle, rolling pressure that makes my breath catch with each movement. I bite down on my lower lip as another wave crashes through me, smaller but no less intense, my muscles clenching around him. My fingers curl around him, stroking him tighter, as electricity dances up my spine and blooms behind my eyelids.
